“Saint Columba help me!” said Allan.  “Aasta?  Aasta the wolf maiden?  What trick is this you have played me?  It is you, then, and no wolf that I have been following?  And I had nearly slain you!”

“Listen, Allan Redmain; and, I beg you, make no noise,” said Aasta, drawing nearer.  “Listen if you hear not footsteps on the moor yonder.”

Allan held in his breath for a moment, and in the stillness he heard indeed the pat, pat of a pair of feet hurrying away.

“Well,” he said, “I do in truth hear footsteps.  But what of that?  ’Tis but the tread of some wild boar or prowling wolf.”

“Not so,” said Aasta; “they are the footsteps of the fair-haired youth who came with you in Earl Kenric’s ship from Dumbarton.”

“Harald of Islay!  He?”

“Even so,” said Aasta.  “Two hours ago he escaped by stealth from the castle of Rothesay.  He is now seeking the means of flying from the island.  I know not wherefore he was brought to Bute; but the manner of his escaping and his care to avoid being seen were such that I followed him.  I had gone to Rothesay to learn of your return, and to get news for Elspeth.  Setting out for Kilmory I saw this youth steal out by the west postern, cloaked and armed.  Tarry not here; for if it be that the youth had no right to leave the castle, then he must even be forcibly taken back.”

“Even so, Aasta,” said Allan, “and much do I commend you for your timely warning of the lad’s escape.  Though how by your witchery you brought me hither I cannot well understand.”

“Seek not to learn, then,” returned Aasta, leading him forth upon the open land; “but come ere it be too late to arrest this fugitive.”

With no further words the fair maiden led him southward towards the sea cliffs, skipping over the streamlets that crossed their path, and passing over wide stretches of barren moorland.  And down into every creek and bay she turned her searching eyes.  Suddenly she halted and drew back a few paces, then crouched upon the ground, bidding Allan do likewise.  Thus she crept to the brink of the cliff that stands frowning above the bay of Stravannan.

The light of dawn had by this time chased away the shadows of night, and headlands and rocks stood out clear against the gray sky.  Aasta pointed down to the stony beach below.  The tide was at half flood, and lying above the water’s edge was a small fishing boat.  Young Harald of Islay had grasped the boat’s gunwale and was pulling and tugging with all his strength.  A few more pulls and the little craft would be launched.  Every effort he made brought it a foot nearer the water.

“Ah, had I but my bow and a good straight arrow!” whispered Allan, crouching down at Aasta’s side.

“Hush!  Give me your plaid,” said she.  “Let him not see you; but go you down by the farther side of the bay while I take this nearer path.  When you hear me cry as the peewit cries, run as quickly as may be towards the boat.  Methinks by his fair hair that the lad should be of the Norsemen.  Is that so?”